


Royals (we will never be)

by peaceminusme



Category: Big Bang (Band), Winner (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Mob, Gang Violence, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceminusme/pseuds/peaceminusme
Summary: Jiyong is the head of a mob empire, one built by his hyungs and handed down to him. All his life, he has fought for the wealth and glory of the Family. But kingdoms don't last forever, and what goes up, always comes crashing down.





	1. Prologue

  _And Caesar's spirit, raging for revenge,_  
 _With Ate by his side come hot from hell,_  
 _Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice_  
 _Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war._

_\- Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 1_

 

* * *

 

 

_18 August, 2028, Gangnam, Seoul_

 

There were many things that Kwon Jiyong disliked, but one of his pet peeves was _mess._

 

And the steady stream of blood leaking out from beneath the man on his rug, was, most definitely, a mess. Jiyong surveyed him with contempt, from the open-mouthed confusion still lingering in the man’s dead eyes, to the gaping wound on his neck - the wound from which blood was currently dribbling onto his white Persian rug. 

 

Jiyong surveyed the tainted blade of his katana and cursed under his breath. “Fucking mutt,” he swore, “Sword’s the dirtiest it’s been in years, and the polish is downstairs…”

 

All of a sudden, there was a violent pounding on the door of his study. Whoever it was on the other side sounded desperate for his attention, Jiyong thought. Too bad he was having some quality time with this lovely corpse - 

 

The locked door slid open with a chime, and Jiyong whirled around, pointing his sword directly at the intruder’s throat. 

 

“Whoa, Jiyongie.” 

 

“Ah, what a welcome surprise. Didn’t think you’d stop by tonight - _Taeyang-ssi._ ” 

 

“Jiyong, don’t do this now. You have to -” 

 

Jiyong snorted. “You’re not quite in the position to make requests of me.” 

 

“Well, you’re clearly not in a very good _position_ yourself.” 

 

Jiyong snorted, and slid onto the plush seats of his leather couch. He swung his feet over the dead man’s body, and rested his Gucci shoes on the man’s face, pressing the soles on the corpse’s cheek. 

 

“Seems like a pretty fucking good place to be in - I mean, I’m not the one with my throat slit open here.” 

 

“Jiyong, they’re only two blocks away.” 

 

Jiyong glanced at Youngbae - and observed, for the first time in months, his old friend’s countenance. He was panting hard, as though he’d raced up all fifty floors of Jiyong’s apartment building, and large beads of sweat were dripping off his creased forehead. 

 

“You look like you haven’t shaved in weeks,”Jiyong said, finally, getting to his feet and sheathing his sword. He headed to the open bar at the far end of his study, the familiar swagger still very much in his step. “Wasn’t that prerequisite number one for our clique? Killer looks? You’re losing your touch.” 

 

“I’m not sure you heard me the first time. They’re -”

 

“Settle down, have a drink with me. It’s my fucking birthday, in case you’ve forgotten.” 

 

“I didn’t forget, what the fuck, that’s not the point, Jiyong -”

“The usual? No rocks today, I’m afraid, the servants are, as you might have guessed, somewhat occupied.”

 

“Jiyong -” 

 

“Have a drink with me, Youngbae-ah,” Jiyong said quietly, his knuckles turning white, as he clutched the bottle of whisky in his hands. 

 

Youngbae sighed, and shuffled over to the bar, side-stepping the corpse as he moved. He settled into one of the uncomfortable rust-red bar chairs - no doubt one of those avant-garde pieces of shit that big Seunghyun had imported from god-knows-where. 

 

Jiyong opened the whisky decanter - a pretty crystal bottle with a dragon’s head for a cap - and poured them each a glass. The liquid glowed a mellow amber in the residual light from the fireplace, and Jiyong smiled with satisfaction as he swirled the drink in his tumbler. 

 

“It’s the McCallan Anniversary malt. Very nice - 1926. Cost me an arm and a leg to bring it in.”

 

“Thought you were the richest motherfucker in town.” 

 

“You’ll be surprised. Every fucking person - official, gangster, what have you - from Busan to Jeju wanted a sip, y’know. And when every fucking person wants a sip, people fight to the death over the last bottles. One of our kids got his arm sliced off in Scotland when he smuggled that casket out of a Dutch boss’s castle.”

 

“You meant, literally, an arm -”

 

“Yeah, same kid got his leg frozen off when he got thrown into the sea. Motherfucker was fished out by his mates, still clutching the case of whisky. Nearly died. Hypothermia or whatever the fuck you call it.” 

 

“Shit.” 

 

“Yeah, the lengths they go to, man. All for our motherfucking whisky kick. Tastes the same as fucking store-bought shit, I swear.” 

 

“You have a cheap mouth, that’s why.” 

 

Jiyong chortled, and stopped short when the deafening boom of an explosion rattled the windows. 

 

“Jiyong -” 

 

“Let’s finish this drink, Youngbae. It’s been so long, since we’ve had a drink. As brothers.” 

 

Youngbae sighed, and raised his glass. “To your glory.” 

 

“To family.” 

 

Youngbae fell silent, as he held Jiyong’s gaze, his eyes welling up with tears. 

 

Jiyong’s eyes burned, and he tilted his chin toward Youngbae, questioningly. Challenging, resolute, his jaw set like a defiant teenager. And just for a moment, Youngbae saw a sliver of him - that boy, so many years ago - his hands soaked with blood, extending a hand and pulling him out of the mud. _We’re family,_ the boy had said. _Family._

 

Youngbae raised his glass in his trembling hand, and let it kiss the rim of Jiyong’s with a clink. 


	2. Korean Dream

_1 August, 2020, Cheongdam-dong, Seoul_

 

“Not again.”

 

Jiyong felt something solid nudge against his ribs. Feels like a fucking baseball bat. He rolled over, eager to escape the persistent jab in his side, and hissed as his cheek made contact with the cold marble. 

 

Marble? 

 

“It’s the third time this week, G. We can’t keep doing this.” 

 

Jiyong cracked one eye open and grinned at his best friend, who was currently standing over him holding said bat in his hands. From his position on the floor, Youngbae looked rather imposing, with his spiky mohawk and the tattoos down his muscular arms. But Jiyong knew that as tough a cookie as Youngbae was, he could vomit in his brother’s sitting room rug every day of the week, and the man wouldn’t touch a hair on his head. 

 

They did, after all, go way back. 

 

“You passed out in my house again. You’re the most powerful man this side of the Han river, and you’re sleeping in your own vomit,” Youngbae said, puffed up in annoyance, running his hand through his hair. 

 

“Ah, it was just a regular Wednesday night, Youngbae-ah,” Jiyong said, pushing himself onto his haunches and stretching. 

 

“You woke my dog because you were screaming and smashing things on my front lawn again. The piss in my rose bushes. The garden gnomes. And don’t let me get started with what you did to my angel statue on the front porch -“ 

 

“Yeah, alright, stop complaining, I’ll get you new stuff. New rose bushes! New statues!” Jiyong said, as he shrugged his blazer onto the floor and headed toward the guest room. Youngbae trailed after him, snorting in disapproval as he picked the coat up and followed Jiyong down the hallway.

 

“Are you going to work? It’s six am.” 

 

“Yep.” 

 

“You know, this is my house.” 

 

“Uhuh.” 

 

“You don’t live here.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

“Hyorin isn’t happy.” 

 

“Oh, she loves me,” Jiyong unbuttoned his white dress shirt and cast it on the floor as well, as he made his way toward the bathroom. He grinned when he noticed the lavender-scented bath that had been drawn for him, as well as the dissolvable aspirin next to the sink. A woman’s touch made Youngbae soft and annoying, he pondered, as he slid into the tub, sighing in relief.

 

“Did you have fun ingesting enough narcotics to sedate Gangnam last night?” Youngbae yelled from the guest room. 

 

“Psh, give it a fucking rest. It was one of Seungri’s fucked up parties at his new club that I absolutely _jinjjha_ had to go to because I’m his beloved _favourite_ hyung.” 

 

“I’ll get to Seungri later. The greater question is: why are you headed to work at the asscrack of dawn?” 

 

“Some stuff to take care off. Got a text from one of the kids last night. Turns out the bastards near Hongdae are stirring shit again,” Jiyong said, his voice tinged with frustration. 

 

“What happened?” 

 

Jiyong frowned as he scrubbed himself clean. 

 

“Not sure. It was the same as last time, though. The new guys, causing some trouble in one of our bars. One of our guys got stabbed, ended up in the fucking hospital.” 

 

“Shit.” 

 

“Yeah, fucking kid with a golden katana. Some Kill Bill copycat bullshit. I’m the only one who wielded bloody katanas before he started slashing bitches -” 

 

“Jiyong -” 

 

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just frustrating, you know, when people start hijacking my style. Like, I did that shit first -” 

 

“ - not the point…” 

 

“Anyway, yeah, got to meet the kids. See what they’ve been doing about these little shits, you know.” 

 

“Do you need me there?” 

 

“Nah. Not now. Not yet.” 

 

Ever since Youngbae had cut back drastically on his working hours, Jiyong had felt like something was missing. They had been out on the frontline for a decade, - brothers in arms, Jiyong with his katana and Youngbae with his fists. They had fought for years, side by side. 

 

And the king missed his favourite knight. 

 

\---

 

“Why the fuck did you text him?” 

 

Seungyoon sighed and tried to ignore Minho, as he busied himself with tidying their apartment, dragging the bags of garbage into the corner and placing chilled cans of soft drinks on the table. 

 

“Answer me, why! Why did you text him!” Mino hollered, his face red with rage, pestering the younger man as he cleaned. 

 

“Because it seems like it will take Jiyong hyung stepping in to handle this problem. Because, this issue is, just like Jennie Kim, way out of your league,” Seungyoon said, smirking a little. 

 

“I could have fucking handled it, Yoon, you saw them. There were just seven of them -” 

 

“And five of us -” 

 

“I’m worth three of them!” 

 

“Sure.” 

 

“I could totally have taken that short one out, he was marching around the bar looking so smug, smashing our bottles, drinking our tequila -” 

 

“There are five of us in total. Only three of us were there. Jinwoo was stoned as fuck, because what’s new, it’s fucking Wednesday. And I was not going to get my ass handed to me by seven teenagers because your hotheaded self thought you could take them.” 

 

Pouting, Mino launched himself onto the couch, almost crushing Taehyun’s cat, Polly, as he landed. The cat yowled and made a swift escape into its owner’s room, narrowly tripping him as he exited. 

 

“What the fuck are you two hollering about?” Taehyun asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he sauntered into the living room. Seungyoon glanced at him and noted that he was still dressed in his silk pyjamas, while himself and Minho were completely suited up. 

 

“Are you not getting dressed?” Seungyoon asked. 

 

“Why?” 

 

“The boss is coming.” 

 

Taehyun sighed, and filled his mug with black coffee. 

 

“He first saw us when we were filthy, grovelling teenagers on the street. He’ll be able to stomach my silk pyjamas, I think,” Taehyun said, sipping slowly from his mug and grimacing at the taste. “Shit, no sugar.” 

 

Minho let out an almighty sigh, and continued to sulk as Jinwoo emerged from his room and settled next to him on the couch. Polly jumped lightly onto Jinwoo’s lap, and meowed softly as Jinwoo scratched between its ears.

 

“What kind of tough shit gang members are we if we have cats and live in a comfortable five bedroom apartment?” Jinwoo asked, as he cuddled Polly in his arms. 

 

“We aren’t,” Seungyoon deadpanned as he continued to fuss over the drinks arranged on the table. 

 

Just then, there was a sharp rap on the door. Minho leapt to his feet and bounded to the door, opening it just as the man on the other side raised his hand to knock again. 

 

“Good morning, Jiyong sunbaenim, thank you for coming to our humble home,” Minho gushed, extending his hand politely to welcome the older man into the apartment. 

 

“Ah, Minho, up bright and early, I see,” Jiyong said, shrugging his Chanel jacket off his thin shoulders. He handed it to Minho and headed straight for the couch, casting a cursory nod in Taehyun’s direction. 

 

The boy continued to sip slowly from his coffee cup, observing as Jiyong settled onto the couch next to Seungyoon. Polly approached Jiyong with caution, and settled next to the man, purring as it rubbed its cheeks against his velvet trousers. 

 

“So, Seungyoon.” 

 

“Yes, hyung.” 

 

“Tell me what happened, and leave no detail out.” 

 

Seungyoon gulped, and hoped his hyung didn’t notice his nervousness as he averted his eyes and reached for the iPhone in his breast pocket. 

 

“Jiyong hyung, if you would watch this video first.” 

 

Jiyong grasped the phone in his slender fingers, and pressed play. 

 

He watched with a critical gaze as seven boys leapt out of an unmarked van and strode purposefully toward the doors of his establishment. Black face masks and baseball caps obscured some of their faces, but the boy in front - a tall, well-built youth with raven hair - left his face uncovered. 

 

“That’s him, that one in front, hyung. The kid with the katana. Couldn’t get his face clear on the shitty phone camera, but it’s enough to recognise him.” 

 

Jiyong paused the video and squinted a little at the figure on the screen. Sure enough, a golden katana glistened in the boy’s hands, the blade gleaming under the street lights. 

 

“Do you have a name for me, Seungyoon?” 

 

“They’re new, hyung. Practically unknown since last week when they hit up the other YG bar on the east of Hongdae. That’s when Hoon…” 

 

“How is he?” Jiyong asked, his voice filled with concern. 

 

“He’s fine, hyung. But there’s more, in that video.” 

 

Jiyong continued to watch as the boys started tearing the bar apart. A tall, broad-shouldered youth and his lanky, blonde companion approached the bar from the side door, knocking several YG goons out with their hockey sticks. Meanwhile the kid with the katana attacked from the front doors, sword-first. Some men managed to evade the youth’s swift slashes, but one particularly foolhardy guard had pulled his gun on the boy. 

 

“Hmm,” Jiyong huffed, as the youth swiftly ran the man through with his katana, his face impassive as blood stained his hands. 

 

“A fast, upward cut from the left. Would have done the same myself,” he muttered. 

 

“Sorry, hyung?” 

 

“Never mind.” 

 

Jiyong observed as two other boys bounded up the steps to the bar. One of them had shocking orange hair, and the other a brunette, with a floppy fringe that fell softly over his eyes. 

 

The brunette laughed and hopped onto the bar top, then proceeded to dance on it, while the broad-shouldered youth appeared to yell at him to get off it. Meanwhile, the orange-haired teenager - he looked so small - took his spiked baseball bat to the glass doors. 

 

Jiyong held back a little smile as he recalled his first raid with Youngbae - how his best friend had smashed all the windows at SM’s west side gambling den with his baseball bat before kicking in the front door. 

 

Meanwhile, a short, dark-haired boy waited in the van, while another grey-haired youth unloaded what looked like a barrel of gasoline from the back of the vehicle. 

 

“So this is where it gets a little wild,” Seungyoon said, wincing. 

 

Jiyong watched intently as the slight, grey-haired boy doused the shopfront with gasoline. The other youths had thoroughly smashed up the interior of the bar, and had kicked the body of the injured YG man to the curb, away from the main doors. 

 

“Ah, daredevil miscreants with a concern for human life,” Jiyong said, snorting derisively. 

 

And at that moment, with a flick of his wrist and the clatter of a flaming lighter - the grey-haired man had set a multi million-dollar YG establishment on fire. 

 

Jiyong chuckled. 

 

“Interesting. Very interesting,” he said. 

 

Seungyoon looked on in trepidation, as his hyung set his iPhone carefully on the table. 

 

“Hyung, I wanted to whoop their asses, but Seungyoon held me back,” Minho growled, his fists clenching at his side. 

 

Jiyong turned to face Minho, levelling his gaze at the younger man’s eyes. 

 

“And how would you have done that, Minho?” 

 

“I had my knife, I would have slit that orange-haired midget’s throat -” 

 

He fell silent at once and shifted in his seat, under the glare of Jiyong’s reproachful eyes. 

 

“So that happened,” Jiyong said. “Our property got lit on fire by seven teenagers, right under our noses. One of our men was stabbed. And last week, your boy nearly got his back broken by one of these kids. In hand to hand combat, no less. And you don’t know who these fuckers are.”

 

Seungyoon looked away, his face reddening in shame. Jinwoo and Minho stayed silent. Meanwhile, Taehyun remained at the kitchen island, continuing to sip his coffee, his eyes as cold as before. 

 

Jiyong sighed. 

 

“Please tell me years of training has allowed you to at least come up with a solution for me.” 

 

“We could whoop their asses. Take twenty men and beat the shit out of every one of them the next time they show up,” Mino finally found his voice. 

 

Jiyong frowned, as he toyed with the sharp, spiked detail on his gold rings. 

 

“We could try reinforcing security at our bars. Put people on surveillance,” Seungyoon remarked. 

 

“Or we could transfer some of the Gangnam men to stake out at the other new YG places, since they seem to be attacking us establishment by establishment. After all, they attacked the bar in the north, now it’s the east,” Jinwoo said. 

 

Jiyong remained silent, nodding as they spoke. 

 

Taehyun coughed from his corner on the kitchen island, his eyes glinting with promise. 

 

“Or I can find out who the fuck these boys are. This intelligence thing is my job. And once we know -” Taehyun spoke, his voice quiet and measured. 

 

A smile finally graced Jiyong’s lips, as he looked appreciatively at the younger man. 

 

“You have two weeks, Taehyun. Don’t let me down.” 

 

\---

 

“NAM TAEHYUN!” 

 

Minho’s voice boomed across the apartment once he had ascertained the boss was out of earshot. 

 

“Yes?” Taehyun replied, lifting Polly off the ground and cradling it in his arms. 

 

“You and your bright ideas of infiltrating their gang. You talked a big game to Jiyong sunbaenim. We don’t even know who they are. How the fuck would you even do that?” Minho said. 

 

Taehyun smirked. “You saw those two beagles in the video? The idiot dancing on the bar, and that little orange-haired firecracker smashing our doors to smithereens?” 

 

“Yeah, what about those fuckers?” 

 

“Well, if I don’t remember wrongly, I think I know where I’ve seen those two before,” Taehyun said.

 

Minho stared at him, befuddled. 

 

“I went to a high school near the Hongdae area, hyung.” 

 

Minho continued to look blankly at Taehyun, until the younger man sighed, and elaborated. 

 

“I’d recognise that short arse’s silhoutte anywhere. And that god-awful dye job. If I’m not wrong, orange freak and his dumbass brown-haired buddy - they took the 19 bus home with me every day. Got off two stops before. Think they’re gay for each other, they were fucking noisy, too weird and touchy, kept on slapping each other’s asses -” 

 

“So what?” Minho still looked a little confused. 

 

_“So_ , Minho _hyung_ ,” Taehyun drawled, purposefully exaggerating the honorific. “I know where the fuck they live.”

 

\---

 

Jiyong had been ushered out of the apartment with low, respectful bows from Jinwoo, Minho, and Seungyoon, but Taehyun had remained solidly at his post at the kitchen island. That tsundere little shit, Jiyong thought, as his lips quirked into a knowing smirk. 

 

As he reclined on the plush leather of his Bentley’s back seat, he recalled the Taehyun he had met six years ago, when the boy was but a starving thirteen year old. 

 

He had picked all five of them off the streets, and fed them, clothed them, called them his dongsaengs. Jinwoo, the oldest, a teary eyed orphan snivelling into his raggedy shirts. Seunghoon, a brave little lion, who he rescued from being beaten to a pulp by an angry kimbap vendor from whom he had stolen. Then Minho - a slightly pig-headed kid who had run headlong into Jiyong and Youngbae’s entourage after stealing a jewelled hair tie for his little sister. Seungyoon - a pale, shivering child of a single mother who had, for years, lived from hand to mouth. And lastly, Taehyun - the sickly maknae of the group, who always seemed wise beyond his years, and, inexplicably, haunted by a host of demons that plagued his dreams. 

 

Over the last six years, Jiyong had watched the five young men grow. He had sent them to the best schools - though Minho had, expectedly, failed most of his classes - and most recently, he had sent them each to one of his closest confidantes for a year to learn the tricks of the trade. 

 

Minho had been assigned to Youngbae, who had sent him back to the dormitory every evening with bruised limbs and a wounded ego, moaning and groaning from the exertions of his training. Seungyoon had gone to Seunghyun hyung, to work as an intern at the gallery, and, of course, to lend Seunghyun a much needed helping hand with the gang’s secret money-laundering business. And Seunghoon - that jovial lion cub, had bounced off to Daesung every week, for physical training and “networking” sessions with high-ranking members of the police force, at one of Seungri’s many colourful establishments. Meanwhile, Jinwoo had chosen to go to Seungri - God knows what he’d learnt there. 

 

And Taehyun - seemingly emotionless maknae Taehyun, had gone to Jiyong. 

 

Jiyong liked Taehyun - he was an elegant boy with soft, slightly feminine features, who moved almost soundlessly. Though he spoke little, he saw all - and his dark, mysterious character held its own appeal. 

 

Jiyong wanted to train Taehyun how to lead, but to this day, he wasn’t quite sure if he had made the right choice. Taehyun possessed none of Seunghoon’s careless charm, Jinwoo’s meticulous nature, Seungyoon’s selfless heart or Mino’s physical prowess - and though none of these were essential characteristics for a leader, they helped. Taehyun was smart, nimble, and the boy doubtlessly possessed a strong mind and a ruthless hand - but something, somewhere, was missing. 

 

“I want to tear them apart, and mash all of them up into one perfect person,” Jiyong had bemoaned over a glass of scotch at Youngbae’s house. “Like a fucking build-a-bear.” 

 

To which Youngbae had responded with a disapproving shake of his head and a “give them time, they’ll learn”. 

 

Stupid, fluffy Youngbae and his platitudes, Jiyong thought. 

 

Youngbae had forgotten, he surmised, the day he had taken over YG. A katana in his hand, and the responsibility of Master thrust onto his lap, nineteen-year-old Jiyong had been an unwilling initiate into the world of gang leadership. And he had fought, and bled, for the gang, for honour, for the YG family. 

 

Men die, Jiyong knew as much. But the YG legacy - the legacy is all that survives. 

 

Taehyun was nineteen, now, and the oldest, Jinwoo, was twenty-two. 

 

There wasn’t time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been busy with my main BTS fic but I definitely haven't given up on my First Loves GDYB! (;  
> Hope you guys enjoy this - am rather excited as well to see where this will go!

**Author's Note:**

> The first chapter of what certainly promises to be a monster of a multi-chaptered Mafia AU fic!  
> Also come yell at me and check out my character #aesthetic on Instagram at @kookiedragon


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